At Home
I’d lived in an old, Southern, colonial style home at the edge of Hilton Head Island my entire life. I never knew that there was a point where a house became a home, as I had always been in a home. I didn’t know there was this epiphany after the “For Sale” sign was stripped from the yard, or when the last cardboard box was unpacked. It was a foreign concept to me until I moved in with my older sister in college.
The Soc House was horrible in every respect. It was old and was probably infested with ghosts. The porch stairs were decayed and dangerous, the wooden floors were scratched, and the old Oak tree in the front yard always swayed too close to the house. It took the whole summer repainting, tearing up flooring, landscaping, and designing to even make the place livable. Now, it was some-what of a beautiful tragedy thanks to the women’s soccer team, tied together by rent every month.
Another thing about this house that differed from my childhood home, it was nearly impossible to get the four of us in the same room back in South Carolina. However, in the Soc House it was hard to get some alone time as everyone shoved themselves into the rooms with loud arguments and loud cleats—which they shouldn’t have been wearing in the house anyway.
The only relief from the stomp of the twenty-year old toddlers was in the early mornings in the cool of early fall. I snuck down the stairs quietly, immediately heading to the kitchen. The only modern instruments we had on the ancient granite counter-tops was a toaster and a Keurig. I grabbed a breakfast blend cup and pushed it into the Keurig, moving to the fridge to scrounge up some milk and cream.
My quiet was short-lived, as it always was. Because there is the creak of feet on the stairs, yet I am used to this routine. I don’t even have to look to know Amanda Jackson has joined me in the kitchen.
The coffee brews underneath the Keurig in a purple mug, as it finishes, I immediately grab it and push it out to Amanda who takes it gratefully. “Thanks Mere.” She says with a smile, taking a long sip as she reaches into a lower cabinet to pull out a couple boxes of cereal, as well as some bread.
I take some wheat bread and push it into the toaster as Amanda stands on her tip-toes to reach some bowls in the cabinets. She pulls two out, placing them on the counter. I pull some avocado and peanut butter from various areas through the kitchen as the third set of footsteps sounds off from the creaky staircase.
Danielle comes down, scratching her head groggily. Her short, bleach blonde hair is spiked into a thousand different directions, as if she’s been electrocuted. She’s in a pair of team shorts that are nearly hidden underneath a huge tank top that reveals nearly every tattoo she has. “Morning Dan.” Amanda says.
“Hey Jax,” Dan replies as she stumbles to one of the barstools at the kitchen counter, plopping down in it, “And hey Meredith.”
I smile at her, working at spreading some avocado and garlic salt onto a piece of toast. I slide it to her, which earns me a wink. “You’re a saint Meredith, can’t say the same for your sister.” She replies, motioning upstairs.
I roll my eyes as the fourth character strolls from the stairs already fully-dressed in business clothes. He’s struggling with a tie when he looks at us in the kitchen, exasperated and frustrated. Nick’s brown hair is gelled neatly back, and he seems really put together until you see the knot that is his tie. “Babe, can you help me?” he asks Amanda.
Amanda laughs and walks over to him, tying the tie perfectly and straightening it out onto his chest. “Nick, you lived in Italy for a year without me, you’d think you’d have figured this out by now.” She plays. He just shrugs, kissing her on the forehead.
He’d bend over his cereal in a moment and curse leaving the Air Force, but then he’d catch Amanda’s eye and realize he had made the right decision. It happened each morning.
“I have an interview today. They might have me work at the VA.” He tells her, but loud enough so we can all hear him. We congratulate him as he takes a seat beside Dan, where Amanda slides him a bowl of cereal, Chex Mix to be exact.
He smiles, grabbing a spoon immediately. Then I hear the front door open and Corrie walks in with Levi in tote. They’re carrying some Starbucks coffee, but look joyful when they notice we’re making breakfast. “Fuck yes.” Corrie exclaims, hopping into the kitchen tugging Levi by the arm, “We were up all night taking pictures at clubs for Levi’s project. We’re starving!” Two more pieces of avocado toast go to them, which they gratefully take.
Then Hayden comes clambering down the stairs in a pair of sweatpants with a sports bra, she’s still rubbing the sleep out of her eyes with her forearm as she enters. I make her peanut butter toast, putting it on a piece of paper towel as a peace-offering to the sleep-deprived striker. She looks at it and nods at me. It is her own way of thanking me, as I suppose a smile would ruin her dominant stance as the older sister. “Can I have some cereal too?” she asks.
Amanda and I exchange a look as the keeper pours a bowl of Captain Crunch. We knew better. Hayes never ate more than toast before practice, never. So Amanda answers, “Yes he can have some cereal if you both promise to be a bit quieter tomorrow night.”
Hayden’s cheeks flush and she shrugs, “Whatever.” She grumbles, underneath the eyes of the team mother.
“Go ahead and invite him down for breakfast too.” Dan adds from her barstool, smirking at Hayes. At least my sister knew when she had lost, a rarity in her vocabulary, she goes back upstairs and returns with a disheveled Jake Sullivan. His ebony hair is a mess, and he’s in some sweats and his flannel from the night before. It’s the first time I haven’t seen him in the Nova State staff polo. But despite just being caught with Hayes, he seems right at home. It happened almost every morning, no matter how slick the duo thought they were.
I hand him his cereal and he thanks me shyly. After everyone is fed, I focus on getting my own breakfast made. I make some more coffee, a lighter roast than Amanda’s, and pour some creamer into it. Then I grab my own bowl of cereal and make my way through the crowd into the dining room.
It’s one of the oldest parts of the house. A chandelier dangles above an old wooden table that Dan and I had bought for one hundred and five dollars from a garage sale downtown. It was my haven amidst the insanity of the Nova State Women’s Soccer team and their crazy schedule.
I usually ate alone, reading articles on my phone as the girls argued in the kitchen over stupid things like protein shake flavors and liquor brands. But today as I sit down, I notice there is someone standing in the doorway.
I look up and find Dan staring at me, leaned onto the door frame with a glass of orange juice—with a little champagne mixed in—and her toast. “Can’t let you keep eating alone gorgeous.” She grins as she prances in and takes a seat beside me at the table.
I roll my eyes at her advances, but secretly, I loved her company. However her disappearance in the kitchen has caught the eyes of everyone else. Amanda pops her head in next, “Do you guys care for some company?” she questions.
We both nod and she walks in, getting caught in the doorway for a moment as Nick has tried coming in at the same time. They laugh and he takes a step back to let his fiancé in, waving her on with his cereal bowl. They sit beside each other across from Dan and me.
“Ew,” I hear Corrie say as she peeks into the room, “We’re eating together? Like some fucked up family now?”
Levi appears behind her, blonde hair falling into his eyes as he puts a hand on her shoulder, “I think it’s cute.”
“Shut up.” She snaps at him, to which Levi simply shakes his head and pushes Corrie into the dining room. They sit down beside Nick and Amanda.
I go to take my first bite as Hayden makes her appearance, stomping in and plopping down roughly beside me. Jake is at her heels and sits down at her side at the head of the table. I note how their knees touch under the table, and Jake’s hand softly placed on the edge of my sister’s knee. They’d never show affection in front of the team. It was still awfully taboo for them, yet their undetected, yet undeniable, fondness of each other was still obvious underneath the table.
An argument began not even thirty seconds later.
Something about a hot dog being or not being a sandwich. I really couldn’t follow.
I watch as Dan points her finger accusingly at Hayden, who rolls her icy eyes and spits out some counter-argument. Jake watches her with a slight smile, in one of his rare moments when he actually looks relaxed. Corrie is laughing, poking Levi on the shoulder until he joins in, chuckling, as they listen to the stupidity of the argument. Amanda is just rolling her eyes, and Nick is stealing glances at her until she catches him over her coffee mug and they both smile.
And it was in that moment that I realized a house does become a home. After the “For Sale” sign was stripped from the yard, or when the last cardboard box was unpacked. After you learn who likes what kind of toast or what brand of cereal. Or who leaves their shoes by the door, or throws them by the couch. Which color Gatorade was who’s in the fridge. Who forgot to put a pillow behind their bed frame before sex, and who listened to loud music until one in the morning. Who took naps six times a day, and who came down the stairs first to make breakfast. After you learned that maybe the roof didn’t sag because it was old, but because it could barely hold the weight of the family within it.
That’s the moment the Soc House became the Soccer Home.
Amanda looked down at her Fitbit, “Y’all are aware that practice is in fifteen minutes right?”
Frantic scooting of chairs, spoons whirling about in ceramic bowls, and lots of yelling. The chaos began again, but I’d never welcomed it more. I’d never felt so at home.